Veil

by Aaron Overfield

  The soldier looked back and repeated himself, “The man is alive.”

  He supposed he could live comfortably off the money he made, that wasn’t a problem. The problem was, PostVeil, living comfortably to most people suddenly meant something entirely different. Sure, money was still a necessity. People still had basic needs; there was never a way around that. The market would never disappear. If he could’ve enjoyed the money PreVeil, life would’ve been completely different. Comfort was something completely different back then. PostVeil, money was nothing more than a way to meet your needs and once your needs were met, your main priority was Veil.

  Wealth became the fuel of Veil and the lifeblood of its expansion. People inevitably pumped more wealth into it so they could experience more. Experience more people, experience different people, experience different experiences. However, once wealth entered the realm of Veil, everyone got to benefit from it equally. Everyone was contributing to the system simply by participating in it. Although money enhanced and expanded the technology, consumers of Veil were all equals. If you weren’t a part of Veil, if you weren’t a Veiler, you didn’t matter. You weren’t contributing anything to the system. You were invisible.

  PostVeil, he could live “comfortably,” but that no longer meant anything because it meant he was isolated and alone. His form of wealth was meaningless to anyone other than Veilgrants and he despised Veilgrants. He remained alone even after he accepted that he was one of them. In a way, accepting it made him despise them even more, if that were possible.

  It made him despise them more because they chose to be that way. He felt they had a choice: they could decide any day to stop being a Veilgrant. If he could change positions with them, he wouldn’t think twice. He’d port himself so fast and then wouldn’t give his vPort a chance to heal before he cabled himself into the network.

  He could’ve burned all the money for what it was worth; he didn’t care about it. The irony was not lost on him. What he did, which earned him his wealth, left him unwilling to use Veil and without Veil, his wealth turned out to have no value. He couldn’t take any of it back, though. He could never take it back. The only thing that made life worth living anymore was being able to witness, although as an outsider, what was happening to the world. What was happening to people. It was worth staying alive simply to witness the ushering in of the New Veil World era.

  Maybe one day he’d decide life wasn’t worth living anymore. Perhaps then he would go ahead and Veil for as long as he could get away with it. He would just Veil for as long as possible, until eventually he got found out. He would Veil until someone dug into his mind and discovered what he did. However, he knew no degree of enjoyment he got from being a part of society again, being a part of Veil, would outweigh his paranoia or the crippling fear of his fate once the world found out what he did to the Great Jin Tsay. Once they knew that, they’d never be able to live with him. Once they knew that, he’d suffer a fate far worse than being a Veilgrant.

  “Come and help me!” he shouted at the soldier from across the 13th floor. The soldier refused to leave his post but did finally let him enter the lab, presumably so he wouldn’t have to deal with the mess himself or face the General.

  The soldier peered back into the lab at the two men, the one standing and the unconscious body lying on the floor, but stayed in his position and remained silent.

  “I need you to help me lift him onto the table. That’s it.”

  The soldier remained posted at the door, still looking back at the two men and still silent. Contemplating. He already let the man into the lab so the situation had to get resolved somehow. He couldn’t leave him in there and the man obviously wasn’t going to go away. Neither was the body. He decided he had no choice but to act. He propped his gun up by the door and sprinted over to where the two men were. He looked at the man on the floor. His head was wrapped in bloodied gauze, with what looked to be a piece of metal sticking out from both ends.

  What in the holy hell?

  “Just help me lift him up onto this table, and you’re done.”

  The soldier lifted the body by the shoulders as the other man lifted the legs.

  “Be careful of the cords, just set him on the table, I’ll do the rest,” he instructed the soldier.

  They positioned the man on the lab table and made sure all the cords and wires were untangled and free.

  “Ok. Go.”

  The soldier sprinted back to his post, picked up his weapon, and resumed his watch. He heard the sounds of squeaking wheels and shuffling approach from behind. He did not turn to look, as the sounds got closer and closer.

  “Move.”

  The soldier glanced over his shoulder but did not move or speak.

  “Move, damnit.”

  Finally, the soldier huffed and stepped aside. The man pushed the table through the door, pulling the life-support equipment with him. He pushed the table until the other end landed flush against the concrete wall between the two elevators. He walked around the table, checked the video monitors on the wall, and pushed a button to call the empty elevator on the right.

  The soldier watched intently as the man positioned the table in front of the elevator. The man then carelessly rocked forward and backwards while he waited for the elevator. He also began to whistle.

  The soldier couldn’t take it anymore. From between clenched teeth, he growled, “What in the holy hell are you doing?”

  Before the man answered, the elevator dinged and the doors opened. The man pushed the table—and the unconscious body it held—inside. Afterwards, he sloppily shoved in the life-support equipment and took a step back.

  When the doors closed the man turned around.

  “There, now he’s their problem,” he smirked and thumbed over his shoulder.

  For years, he watched as the legacy of the Great Jin Tsay transformed from that of genius to icon to hero to revered saint to the world’s most sacred savior. To people the world over, the Great Jin Tsay was the messiah. He delivered unto them the New Veil World and, to him, to his memory, they were eternally grateful and humbled.

  Memories of encounters with the Great Jin Tsay sold for millions of dollars. They were the most valuable and sought-after commodities left in the world. They were also extremely rare and highly guarded by those who knew him personally.

  His wife, the Great Widow Tsay, was the last living familial connection to His Greatness. The Great Widow Tsay was shrouded in privacy and secrecy of such magnitude that its immensity was surpassed only by the world’s unwavering devotion to her. Not since the late Princess Diana of Wales was the world so enamored by a woman and, even in the case of Princess Di, by a hundred times greater. Perhaps a thousand times.

  He watched for all those years as his life slipped further and further away from him. The more revered and sacred the Great Jin Tsay became, the more what he did doomed him to solitude and exile. The world already proclaimed a vow of unforgiving revenge on anyone remotely responsible for the death of the Great Jin Tsay.

  He watched, along with the rest of the world, as they tried the General who ordered the assassination. He knew what fate the General received. He watched, along with the rest of the world, as the two military scientists who knowingly appropriated the stolen research were tried and punished. He knew his punishment would be immeasurably more severe.

  He watched, along with the rest of the world, as a lowly solider set himself on fire in front of the Grand Tsay Temple. The soldier’s only crime was following orders and unwittingly guarding the lab of the Great Jin Tsay after the assassination. The soldier left behind a letter that stated he was afraid the world would come for him next. He was afraid they would come for him, to seek the justice they were unable to deliver unto the actual killer of the Great Jin Tsay. To seek the justice they were unable to deliver unto him.

  His door buzzer went off. The only people who ever visited him were Missionary Veilists. They came once every few months. They possessed a list of every single
remaining Veilgrant in the area and frequently outreached in an effort to bring those lost souls into the Veilist fold. By joining them, they assured Veilgrants, by joining the vMinistry, you could be sure you were protected from the rampant immorality of Veil. You could be sure to experience only the true, pure nature of Veil. You could be sure you were performing the true Veil, the right Veil, the good Veil.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  He stormed to his door and threw it open, ready to threaten to shoot them if they didn’t get off his damn porch. He began to raise his voice and stopped mid-syllable.

  Standing on his porch alone and staring right into his eyes was the Great Widow Tsay. She was already pointing a gun at his face.

  She hissed from behind the barrel.

  “I’ve come for you, Royce Houze.”

  15

  ENSUE

  Ken was unconscious and lying on a bed between them. Suren rambled on. Hunter used a rag to gently dab away more sweat and blood from Ken’s forehead. He knew that day was coming; they both knew. However, he finally understood why Ken never told him what he was going through. He understood why Ken felt he had to suffer alone. It didn’t make it any easier for Hunter. He didn’t think it excused Ken for shutting him out all those years. Still, now that he knew exactly what Ken held inside, Hunter did understand it better.

  “I … I don’t understand. It’s all so much. And it’s still not clear to me. Nothing is clear,” Suren babbled. She held Ken’s hand in hers while she rubbed and massaged it. She was still filled with anger and pain, but after Ken’s last words, she was overcome by a sense that something much greater was going on. She realized, too late, how she should have known right away there was something greater at work. Ken would never betray her; he would never betray their Jin like that. He must’ve had his reasons and some purpose for what he did. Yet, she was still angry. For six years, he kept her shut out of a world she knew was rightfully hers. No one had more right to that world than she.

  “It’s not clear to me, either,” Hunter whispered and pressed the warm cloth onto Ken’s forehead. He set the rag down on Ken’s chest long enough to brush back Ken’s hair. All that premature grey hair, which belied Ken’s true age. “I mean, I’ve had more time … much more time … to deal with all this and I still don’t understand it.”

  Suren leaned down and brought Ken’s hand up at the same time, until her lips met with his hand. She kissed it softly and turned her cheek, rubbing his skin along her face.

  “Start from the beginning. I want to know,” she pleaded with Hunter and swallowed back conflicted tears.

  “I can only tell you what I know, and that isn’t much. It’s not going to answer the big questions you … both of us have. That’s going to have to wait until he’s awake. Until he’s … he’s better.”

  “I know, I know … yes, ok. But we can’t just sit here. I can’t sit here like this.”

  Neither left Ken’s side, and Hunter told her everything he learned and witnessed.

  It all started, he explained, with one of Ken’s keenest abilities: his ability to know what was coming. They both knew that about Ken. He could predict things. Not predict what was coming as in psychic, but rather his ability to follow scenarios through to their logical conclusions. He was always so gifted at that: following thoughts and ideas to their logical conclusions.

  Ken often joked that logic was the way you could predict the future. Not by using some supernatural or divine foresight. It wouldn’t come as some vision. You predicted the future through logic, through following things to their logical conclusions. He always claimed that, when you arrived at the conclusion, you could feel it in your gut if you were right or not. Like some kind of innate intuition. While there was a possibility you would be wrong, he conceded, logic was still always the best answer. Ken also claimed, and with their immense intelligence it was still lost on Hunter and Suren, that logic was the way to discover the true nature of God.

  “Everything is known through logic. Especially God, because God is everything. The universe, god, consciousness, truth, everything … they’re all words for the same thing. They’re discovered through logic,” he proclaimed throughout the years, in one shape or another.

  “Ok, Spock,” was generally Hunter’s reply, which usually put an end to the conversation. There wasn’t an existential bone in Hunter’s body.

  Hunter described how, as the First Veil Year wound down, well before people started demarcating time in Veil Years, Ken already suspected the memory business was going to flourish. And not only flourish, but become legitimized and regulated. He described how, within the first few months that Veil took hold, Ken predicted—and Suren had no trouble believing it—nearly all the ways Veil would permeate and change society.

  “He approached it almost like a plague or a virus. Like the spreading of an infection. His goal was to apply Veil to as many different aspects of life, culture, society or what have you, as he could and imagine what each would look like after Veil was done with it.”

  Hunter explained that Ken knew how valuable of a commodity memories were going to become, especially specific memories. From General Coffman’s trial, they already knew the individual who murdered Jin was a hired gun. It wasn’t much of a stretch for Ken to assume a person, who was motivated by money to such an extent they were willing to kill for it, would also jump at the opportunity to cash in on the memory of Jin’s murder. Especially once he figured out, if he didn’t already know, that he killed the Great Jin Tsay.

  “Back then, only a handful of memory dealers existed. It was all underground, illegal stuff. He tracked them all down and offered each some huge reward if they notified him when someone came knocking to sell a memory of the murder of Jin Tsay. He told them he wanted to be the Vault for the memory and the reward for allowing him the first chance would be immense. They could also never tell anyone, least of all you.”

  “But why? Why would he want it?” she asked. She was pretty sure she already knew the answer but felt compelled to ask anyway. “Why would he want to Vault that memory? Why would he do that to himself?”

  “He knew when the memory surfaced in the underground it could take years for any of us to catch wind of it. By then, the memory could’ve spread and who knew how far and wide? He couldn’t bear the thought of that. He couldn’t bear the thought of you finding out that countless people bought the memory of Jin’s murder from the seedy underbelly of Veil’s infancy.”

  Suren listened to Hunter, and she gazed at Ken’s face. He was still unconscious, but his face indicated pain; it was frozen in a sweaty grimace. When she first read Ken’s name on the list and learned he was the Vault, she might’ve suspected he’d only do something like that with good intentions. Suren might’ve known that pretty deep down. However, any knowledge of it was devoured by the rage she felt over what she saw as his betrayal. Despite what he might have intended, she felt she had the right to know. But, that was before she really knew. Before she really knew exactly what the memory contained. Knowing that, all she could think about was what it must’ve done to Ken. How horribly he must’ve suffered for the last six years.

  “So … what happened?” she asked with a tremble.

  “He got the call a couple of years later, from some weird little Mariano fellow. Well, you know. You were at his store. So he got the call, and he got himself ready. He knew he would have to be prepared.”

  “Prepared?”

  “Prepared to have to tell you, mostly. But, also prepared for having to experience the memory. He knew what Veils of death experiences did to people. We all knew by then.”

  “The Veil Flatliners.”

  “Yeah, exactly. That was before the Right To Veil bill. Not that the RTV bill put a total stop to vFlatliners, but it was still before most people really knew what kind of damage vFlatlining could do. What Veiling a death could do. It was before any official statement was made. For a lot of people, the RTV bill was like a huge Veil warning label, like the kind they had
back when cigarettes were still around. A big ‘Don’t Say We Didn’t Fucking Warn You’ sticker.”

  “But that only concerned Veiling a person who was dying. I mean, that’s what the Veil Flatliners did, they would Veil dying people to experience death, although they knew there was this huge risk that it could drive them mad. I don’t see how that applies here.” She babbled on, thinking out loud. “A vFlatliner’s own mind, after experiencing death, would assume it had died as well, after their brain experienced the pain of death. Going insane was almost a guarantee. But … but this was different, this wasn’t a vFlatline memory. That Ken knew of anyway.”

  “True, true. Oh, definitely. But, Ken wasn’t willing to take any risk. And, well, to be honest, I wasn’t willing to let him.” Hunter stopped mid-thought and gasped. “Oh god. Oh my god, I just realized. God, what if he hadn’t? Oh my god.”

  “Hadn’t what?”

  Hunter pressed the rag against Ken’s forehead as tears streamed from his eyes.

  “Oh my god,” was all he could say.

  Her voice lowered an octave. “Hunter.”

  He snapped out of it and looked at her. “Oh, sorry … sorry. Well, we decided it would be best to be safe, because we didn’t know how it would affect him … like, if it could damage him. I mean, we didn’t suspect it would be a vFlatline memory at all, you’re right about that, but we figured witnessing Jin’s death through the mind of his killer could still damage and scar Ken’s psyche. So we decided it would be best for him to have some kind of buffer in place to shield him from any kind of undue trauma.”